We Get to Carry Each Other
by ja8ne.will
Summary: Takes place after The Suicide King. She's stronger than she used to be, stronger in her broken places. He's just as broken.


**A/N: The title is a line from a U2 song. No copyright infringement intended. Please don't sue me.**

**The Walking Dead and its characters belong to other people, not me.**

**Warning: Angst and Carick of the platonic variety.**

* * *

She's afraid she's going to be sick, right there in the white dusty gravel, even though there's not much in her stomach. Sweat paints her temples and throat. It's hard to swallow.

He's gone. Not dead, thank God, but gone. No good-bye, no chance for her to tell him anything.

Carol drags in a sip of air to keep from passing out. She won't do it. She's stronger than that. The grass is running like green watercolor from the tears in her eyes. Her legs feel numb, and it's almost like she's watching the barn door creak open to vomit out its final nightmare all over again.

Someone is holding her, just like before, but she's on her feet instead of on her knees, and the man who holds her now has gone through a similar hell and knows its blackest alleyways. She leans into him, feels his heartbeat against her chest. She anchors herself to the here and now.

She clutches his shirt, not with the frantic panic of a drowning woman, but with the strength of a woman who has no intention of giving up. His hand on her neck is warm, his breath on her temple warmer as he whispers, "I've got you, I've got you. You're okay."

She believes him, even though his voice is almost as broken as her heart.

* * *

Hershel comes to her later, after dark has fallen. She's cleaned all she can, cooked a simple meal, given Judith a quick bath. She knows that at some point, she will have to slow down and try to sleep. She's had to do this before; she'll do it again.

"Carol," Hershel begins in his soft drawl. "I hate to add to your burdens, but I need your help. Rick needs to sleep. I believe he's hallucinating from simple exhaustion."

"I can't remember the last time I saw him sleep," she admits. "Do you want me to try to talk to him?"

"I want you to convince him to take this." Hershel holds up a small white pill. "It's an Ambien, a sleeping pill."

"Did you try to get him to take it?"

"I did, and it didn't go well. I think he'll listen to you, though."

Carol takes the pill from him. "I doubt I can convince him," she tells him, "but I'll try."

"That's all any of us can do." He stops at her cell door. "For what it's worth, I miss him too, Carol. He's a good man."

"I know," she says quietly.

* * *

She finds Rick upstairs, sitting outside the cell Carl has picked as his own. Carl is on watch with Maggie. Beth has Judith for the first part of the night, and she can hear her singing to the baby, her voice sweet and high. When Rick turns his head at the sound of her footsteps, moonlight paints one side of his drawn, thin face and casts the other side in shadow. For a moment, just a moment, she shivers, remembering his wild agony earlier when he shouted at the air and trained a shaking gun on nothing.

"Hi," she says, folding herself to sit down next to him.

"Hershel send you up here?"

"Uh-huh." She smiles at him and bumps his arm with her elbow. "Make me look like a hero, would you, and take the damn sleeping pill."

He doesn't say anything at first. She doesn't push him. Months of dealing with Daryl's wary skittishness have taught her about patience. She just breathes with him in the quiet dark and thinks about how he helped her stand upright in the merciless light earlier in the day.

"I'm afraid I won't wake up," Rick finally says, his voice hoarse and low, "and I'm not sure that would be a bad thing."

"Rick." She keeps her voice soft. "You will wake up." She reaches out and finds his hand in the dark. His wedding ring is cool and hard against her fingers. "I promise."

She sits with him while he takes the pill then struggles to peel off his shirt and boots. She can feel him shaking when she helps him stretch out on the bunk. She scoots the metal folding chair closer to the bunk when he holds out his hand and isn't entirely surprised when he tugs on her fingers, whispers a shaky "Please." So she kicks off her shoes and slides in next to him, and she links her fingers with his.

"I've got you," she whispers into the forgiving dark. "I've got you. You're okay."

/end


End file.
